Halloween Celebrations
by jarec
Summary: It's Halloween Night, and all of Gotham's criminals are out at play. Finished
1. Chapter 1

Twoface didn't much like it, but Halloween belonged to Harvey Dent. The crime lord had to admit, Dent had been gutsy; their first Halloween 'together' he'd put EVERY Halloween on the line for the coin toss. Good side had come up, and now Harvey was in charge each and every October 31st.

Harvey Dent, District Attorney, had never much cared for Halloween. Oh, he attended all the important parties, made the photo shoots, and even did some "Impromptu" trick-or-treating. But deep down inside he disliked the holiday- it seemed to be tailor-made for vandalism and crime. A lot of people running around in masks and costumes, carrying large containers…in his mind, it was just asking for trouble. He'd never understood why the costumed criminals didn't make more trouble on that night. That is, he never understood it until he joined them. The reason the Rogues were usually quiet on Halloween was simple; it was the only night that they could mingle with the normal folks. Even the most deformed and twisted among them could walk the streets in peace, since everyone assumed they were just wearing costumes. It was a wonderful experience to simply stroll down the street and not be noticed.

Tonight, Harvey intended to take full advantage of that. Mrs Ketheridge (of the North End Ketheridge's) was holding a costume ball for some charity or other. Harvey liked attending such gatherings but he'd never seen why they felt the need to dedicate it to charity. Then again "Rich People Amuse Themselves" probably didn't look as good in the society pages.

He wasn't technically invited but he knew that to be no obstacle. If you knew how to act, how to dress and most importantly which servant to bribe, you could easily crash any large gathering. A hundred dollars to the butler would see him in the door, and from there it would simply be a matter of blending with the crowd. Of course, it didn't always work- Bruce Wayne's butler, for example, was totally incorruptible. Still he had high hopes for tonight. Accordingly, he put on his best suit- half black Armani, half white Versace, with perfect lines and crisp fabric- and dabbed on his favorite cologne, "Twice Shy".

He stepped out the door and told his henchmen he'd be back by two o'clock. While technically Halloween would be over at midnight, neither Harvey nor Twoface would go back to their routine at 12 if they could do so at 2. He drove down the street, and kept one eye out for his fellow Rogues.

The Joker and Harley Quinn were literally skipping down the street holding large sacks with jack o'lanterns on them. Harley was dressed as a fairy princess, with a bubblegum pink gown, tiara, and shimmering pink wings. Her face was make-up free, and she was wearing her hair down tonight. The Joker wore tight jeans, cowboy boots, a gunbelt (with what Harvey hoped were only toy six shooters) and a ten gallon hat. He had fleshed out his skinny frame by stuffing something itho his shirt which made him look twenty or thirty pounds heavier, no doubt to avoid Bat troubles. Yet the clown had done nothing to cover his 'natural' coloring, and looked as freakish as ever. He even had a small sheriff's star, which actually startled a laugh out of Harvey. The thought of the Joker parading through the streets as some sort of Clown Lawman was so surreal as to be funny. 'I Wonder what those two are up to tonight.' Harvey thought to himself 'And how many cadavers will be found in the morning? Ah well, not my problem anymore'

Further along, he saw the massive form of Killer Croc moving slowly through the mass of pedestrians. Despite his hideous visage, the crowd seemed to take no notice of the reptilian giant. Even from his car, Harvey could see the big smile on Croc's face- and understood completely. He could also see the hefty brown shopping bag the big man carried in one arm. He wondered what was inside, but not enough to stop and ask.

Finally, he saw Jonathan Crane, dressed in civilian attire, ambling through Central Park. Under one arm, he carried a weighty book. For all the world, Crane looked like a middle-aged intellectual, out for an early evening stroll. 'God help any muggers who try to take advantage of him' Dent thought sardonically 'If he isn't carrying his fear gas, we'll take up Uno'

Finally, he pulled up to stately Ketheridge manor. While not as classically beautiful as, say, Wayne Manor, the new style mansion was nevertheless a striking building. Tall plantation-style pillars gave the front a southern charm, which contrasted beautifully with the large windows lining the front. Harvey drove up to the front and gave the valet the keys. He proceeded to the front, and prepared himself for the first hurdle of the night.

The butler was a stout man in his late fifties or early sixties, who stood at rigid attention beside the entrance. Harvey had a lot of experience assessing people; both as a lawyer and as a gangster and he could tell this man took his position far too seriously. However, while the man's suit was immaculate, his shoes were old and rather scuffed- which meant that the man could probably do with some cash. Harvey walked straight up to the man.

"Name, please sir?" the butler said, his accent oozing Olde Worlde Charm and Poise.

"Arnold Hepplewyte, of the Georgetown Hepplewyte's. I…oh dear, I appear to have left my invitation at home. Will this do?" he held up five hundred-dollar bills and raised his 'normal' eyebrow,

The butler sniffed as though the whole business was beneath him but took the money with remarkable speed. "Enjoy your evening, mister Hepplewyte."

Harvey entered the ballroom and looked around, scanning for people who'd been close to him before…well, before Twoface. Fortunately, most of his closest friends had moved away after his…change…and the rest weren't high society types. He was, however, amused to note how many people had chosen (chosen!) to dress up as Twoface. He was also slightly disturbed by the number of Jokers he saw in the crowd.

But the important thing was to be sure no one here would know him as the real Twoface. The only one he really had to watch for was Bruce Wayne, but Brucie didn't seem to be here tonight.

"Ha! Knowing Bruce he's probably holed up with some good wine, at least one woman and some light music, playing his own version of Trick Or Treat' he thought, knowing his wild playboy friend. 'Always knew how to have fun.'

* * *

Batman slammed the goon against the wall, and leaned his face in close. So close he could smell the large man's abject fear. It smelled good to him.

"Start talking before I lose my patience. Where's Twoface?!"

"I don't know! He don't tell us where he goes on Halloween Night! I swear it on my mothers grave!"

The Dark Knight could hear the truth in the man's words. He whirled away and walked down the filthy alley, stepping around the unconscious forms of Twoface's other henchmen. In a moment, he'd vanished as surely as though he'd never been there.

* * *

Harvey stood to one side of the ballroom and drank in the atmosphere. The large room was painted an off white color, and was illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier that hung high overhead. Pleasant music played in the background, not yet loud enough to dance to- it was simply part of the décor. The room was filled with laughter and conversation, as the high society set enjoyed one another's company. Harvey had always liked this sort of scene- dignified and formal, yet not to the point of stuffiness. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking down, he saw a woman of about his age looking up at him with more than casual interest. She had brown hair, fair skin and green eyes, and wore a dress that probably cost more than his last heist had netted him.

"Excuse me" she said "But I don't believe we've been introduced. My name is Tiffany Van Kriel. And you are…?"

"Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Harvey said with a smooth smile. She laughed softly, and nodded. At that moment, the band struck up a waltz and Harvey, never one to miss a cue, took her hand. "May I have this dance?"

She nodded, and they headed out to the floor. They moved gracefully to the music, and Harvey couldn't recall a finer dance. They kept on dancing, until finally someone cut in. Harvey headed to the buffet, and loaded his plate with good food and drink.

He fell into a conversation with some businessmen about the new special prosecutor appointed to take on the Rogues. Harvey had to work hard to avoid laughing in their faces when one of them said that 'this should put paid to that ridiculous Batman rumor once and for all!'. Still, he so rarely got to enjoy civilized conversation that he was determined to enjoy it for as long as he could. He eventually moved from the circle, but not before everyone complimented him on his marvelous costume. "But I must tell you that that Twofers chap isn't nearly as badly scarred as all that" One particularly vapid man commented "Afraid you overdid it a tocuh old chap"

Harvey laughed and said that he probably had.

Tomorrow, Harvey Dent would again be a crimelord. Tomorrow, he would once again take up the never-ending battle against his own darker side, with lady luck as the arbiter between them. But tonight he could be a normal person. For right now, everything was all right.

A/N

This is part one of a series examining what I think the Rogues do on Halloween. All the characters here (except Batman) will have their own segments. Next, the Scarecrow!

And the scene with Batman was there to showcase just how effective the Fop act really is.


	2. Chapter 2

Harley loved Halloween. It was so much fun to see everyone in costumes; as a psychologist she knew that you could often tell a lot about someone from what they dressed up as. For example, a man who dresses as a police officer might subconsciously long for a taste of authority. She was dressed as a Fairy Princess- which neatly blended her disconnection from the mundane and her romantic nature. A beautiful pink ballgown, a wonderful tiara (stolen for her by Poison Ivy) and a pair of gauzy, almost translucent wings. She gave a little twirl in front of her full-length mirror, pleased and proud of her choice of costume. She just knew she'd do her Puddin' proud at the Iceberg party.

Most Rogues used Halloween as a way to mingle with the masses quietly. But since her Puddin' definitely did NOT play well with others, they were headed to the Iceberg Lounge. Tonight, Oswald Cobblepot would be hosting his annual Come As You Should Be party; in which all attendants had to come dressed as the person they wished to be. Harley's costume fit the bill nicely; she just wished Mista J hadn't vetoed the bridal gown.

Still, the evening promised to be fun and entertaining. There'd be food (free), drinks (definitely NOT free), music and dancing. Plus the costumes were fun, though the other Rogues wore the same ones every year. Catwoman would be Cleopatra, Hugo Strange would be Freud (a crackpot dressed as a crackpot), Firefly would be Johnny Storm, and so forth. Still, the civilians were always interesting- and it was funny to see what happened when one of them showed up dressed as a Rogue. Then, after the party, back home for a little candy…

At that moment, the Joker entered the room. He was wearing an old-time Sheriff's outfit, complete with spurs and gunbelt. He'd stuffed some packing material under his shirt, making him look like he had a small potbelly. Frankly, Harley didn't care for the look but knew better than to say so. The Joker walked around her, examining her costume. Finally he sighed.

"You look ridiculous. Oh well, it's too late to change it now, I suppose. Go get your shoes, we're leaving soon"

Inwardly, Harley winced. She'd let him down again; what had she been thinking? A fairy princess?! Was that a fit costume for the henchwench of the Clown Prince Of Crime? She blinked back tears and resolved to do better next time. Meanwhile, she went to get her shoes- a pair of sickeningly pink high heels with flowers on the toes. As she lifted them up for inspection, the Joker slapped them from her hands.

"Not those, nincompoop! Get some sneakers, we're going to be on foot tonight!" he snapped, and returned to checking herself in the mirror.

Harley was puzzled "We're walking to the Iceberg?"

"No, my Brainless Belle" The Joker said, speaking slowly as though it should be obvious "We're not going to the Iceberg, we're going Trick-Or-Treating!"

Harley squealed, immediately "Ooo Trick or Treating! That's so much FUN!"

"Yes, yes it is" he said leaning forward to admire himself in the mirror "Now get the shoes, Harley, and some big paper bags. Maybe if you're good, I'll let you have some candy."

The Joker didn't really know why he was doing this; in truth he always enjoyed Oswald's little soirees. The Penguin was one of the few Rogues that he actually approved of- a worthy way for Bats to spend his time when the Joker wasn't available. He'd even picked out a costume that fit that ridiculous theme- a brown shirt, brown pants, toothbrush mustache and a DARLING little red armband. Last year, he'd worn a white robe, wings and a halo. He always loved the looks that one had gotten him but he'd had a feeling this Hitler gag would be even funnier. He'd been particularly interested in what that bartender, Goldberg, would do.

Ah, but then sweet caprice had whispered in his ears. 'Look at all the little kiddies' she whispered 'look at all the smiling faces running from door to door, either getting treats or giving out tricks. Doesn't it look like fun?'. The Joker had been forced to agree that, yes, it did look like fun and had changed his plans accordingly.

He'd found an old cowboy suit at the back of the abandoned joke shop they were staying at, and added a few revolvers he'd 'borrowed' from his henchmen. A bit of material to disguise his signature gaunt frame and the illusion was complete. He hadn't bothered to put on makeup- frankly, the cowboy suit was something he'd never wear and therefore was disguise enough. Besides, he felt this strange urge to hurry. He'd long ago stopped questioning these urges; they always turned out to be such fun! He laughed to himself as he waited for Harley to find her damned shoes.

As she appeared he swept her in his arms and began to dance around the room in a quick foxtrot. "Ah, Harley you look lovely!"

"I…do?" she said.

"Of course you do!" he beamed "Now, let's away to the streets of Gotham! We needn't go looking for trouble tonight, my Babe-In-Waiting, for I have a feeling she is looking for us! HAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

Out on the streets, Harley tugged at his sleeves "Ummm… Puddin'? Where are we gonna Trick or Treat?"

The Joker paused to consider this. He decided to go with his gut- as was his habit in these situations. "In that nice neighborhood, just south of Central Park. All those brownstones; they ought to have some good candy on hand. And if the treats aren't up to snuff, I can guarantee the tricks will be! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

On a whim, he took Harley's arm in his and began skipping down the street. Such was the nature of Halloween in Gotham that nobody gave the six foot five inch Cowboy clown a second glance. God, he loved this town.

Harley was on cloud nine. Here she was, arm in arm with her Puddin', and nobody was calling the cops. Now she knew how other couples must feel. She sighed in happiness, wishing the moment would never end.

All around her, she saw Gothamites celebrating Halloween in that special manner, so unique to Gotham City. Prostitutes plied their ancient trade dressed as witches, nurses and nuns. Men wearing springy antennae or bright red noses (which might or might not be fake) staggered in and out of the bars. Most notable of all were the Rogues, for it seemed that she and Mista J weren't the only ones out and about tonight. She saw Harvey Dent drive by in his Citroen C2, no doubt heading for a party. Everyone knew that Harvey used Halloween to forget the Rogue part of his life- personally, she thought it was a little sad. A total inability to adapt to changing circumstances

Killer Croc passed by them on the sidewalk, carrying a large shopping bag, filled with what smelled like cold cuts. The massive mutant gave Mista J a respectful nod, and leered at her shamelessly. Mista J just laughed at that, and waved Croc away.

As they entered the park they ran across the Scarecrow in his civilian garb. She gave Mista J a pleading look, silently begging for a little time with her mentor. But Puddin' shook his head, and skipped faster. She just had time to wave at the skinny professor before being pulled out of sight. She sighed, glad to at least have been able to see him- the two rarely got much time to talk. Professor Crane was one of the few men

she'd ever met who had no interest in her sexually, and the only one of those who still liked to talk to her.

They reached the affluent target neighborhood soon, and certain differences were immediately apparent. For one thing, the children wore much better costumes here- no bedsheet ghosts, no hand-me down pirate outfits- everything was store bought. For another thing, they carried huge bags for their candy; a few even carried pillowcases.

The Joker stopped them in front of a classical brownstone house. It had a grinning Jack o' lantern on the stoop, and a paper black cat taped to the front door. "Now this looks promising" he said, and leapt up the stairs, yanking Harley along with him. They rang the doorbell and waited.

A balding man in a blue shirt and jeans answered the door. In his hands he carried a big bowl of multicolored sugary treats. "You two look a little old to be Trick or Treating." He said a little skeptically.

"Well" The Joker said in a sweet voice that Harley knew always presaged violence "Aren't we all kids at heart?"

The man chuckled and poured a handful of candy into each of their bags. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Here you go 'kids' and mind you don't eat it all at once. Wouldn't want you getting tummy aches, ha ha ha! Happy Halloween!"

The Joker walked slowly back to the street. "I liked him" he said, thoughtfully "It's nice to see that some of the lemmings in this town still remember the spirit of Halloween. Remember that guy's face Harl. If the need ever arises, he dies quickly. Or hilariously. Whichever "

"Yes, Puddin'. Ooooh! Puddin'! Let's try that house!" Harley pointed across the street to a large, luxuriously appointed house. No decorations were visible, but the lights were on. "A place that nice is bound to have good candy."

The clowns rang the doorbell. The door opened and a large, heavy man peered out. "Beat it, punks." He slammed the door in their faces.

The Joker gasped "How very rude! Has that man no Halloween Spirit? Come, Harley, this poor soul needs our help!"

Knowing a cue when she heard one, Harley squatted down and began to deftly pick the lock with a hairpin. After a few seconds, the door opened. The clowns crept in silently, wanting to surprise their new…playmate.

Arlen Briggs wasn't a bad man. He'd spent twenty years as a shift supervisor at Central City Steel, only leaving when his parents became unable to care for themselves. He then moved in with them to care for them, and when they died, he stayed in Gotham. He just didn't like Halloween- it gave the nuts and freaks of the world license to do whatever sick thing they wanted. So he spent his Halloween shooing away Trick or Treaters and watching movies in his den. He usually did so in private, which is why he was very surprised when the light in his den flicked on. Turning around, he saw those two weirdos who'd just been at his door walk in and start discussing his décor.

"Yech!" the one in the Clown cowboy getup exclaimed "Look at this stuff! Here's a tip, bunky. Ikea is nice but you're not supposed to buy everything you own there! HAHAHAHAHAHAA!"

"Hey, Mista J!" called the one in the dress, over by the picture of his parents "Look at these pictures! Have ya ever seen such old fogies?"

"what- Who are you people?!" Arlen yelled.

"Oh, dearie me where are my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the Joker" the guy took off his hat to reveal wild green hair. He bowed from the waist, the way they did in those movies about mideval times.

'Wait a minute…green hair, white skin…oh shit.' Arlen thought, and his gut shriveled in fear. Meanwhile, the Mad Mountebank continued the introduction, pointing to his female companion.

"And this is my mostly competent assistant Harley Quinn! Harley, see that our guest is securely seated while I go find the munchies."

Harley hopped over to where he was sitting and leaned in close. "Now, I know you're thinkin' of fightin' me. Don't. I'm a lot stronger than I look, and anyway it'll go a lot easier on both of us if you just go along with it. Who knows? Ya might even live through this."

Arlen considered his options. He'd heard somewhere that Harley Quinn was very very strong, and in any case the Joker had guns with him. He couldn't fight his way out and he couldn't call for help- his best bet seemed to be to just be cooperative and hope for the best. After all, the Joker didn't ALWAYS kill his victims, did he?

**Did he?**

As Harley finished duct taping the guy to his easy chair, the Joker strolled in with a bag of marshmallows. "Can you believe it, Harl? In this whole huge house there's nothing sweeter than an old bag of marshmallows. I don't think they even make this brand anymore! What on earth should we do with this guy?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" Harley raced to the Joker's side and grabbed the marshmallows. Returning to the side of the chair, she tore open the bag and took out one marshmallow. Pinching the fat man's nose, she forced it into his mouth "DO you know the game Chubby Bunny?"

The Joker flapped a hand dismissively "Yes, yes. It's that stupid game where little kids try to see how many marshmallows can fit in their gaping pork traps. What of it?"

"Ever wonder what'd happen if someone made it up to fifty?"

The Joker snorted. "Never happen. By the time you made twenty he'd…choke…" his voice trailed off and he stared at Harley with something almost like respect in his eyes.

She giggled and forced another sugary confection into their captives mouth. "Two Chubby Bunny."

Warming to the game, the Clown Prince of Crime plucked a marshmallow out of the bag "Three Chubby Bunny" he said as he delicately put it in Arlen's mouth.

In the end, they made it all the way up to twenty seven, before Arlen's windpipe became obstructed. As the pair left the house, they were still laughing.

"Ahhh, Harley, my clever little clownette!" The Joker said, pulling his girl close "That was a great idea! The look on his face was- was- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA! But now, onward! More houses! More candy! ONWWARD!"

The rest of the night was largely uneventful. Most of the homeowners either laughed at the duo or were unnerved by them. Either way, they were generous with the candy bowl. Their bags almost full, the clowns decided to hit one last house before heading over to the Iceberg for drinks. It was a fairly ordinary building, with no decorations up. Still, they rang the doorbell. But there was no answer. They rang again, and for good measure yelled out "Trick or Treat!"

The blinds on the window twitched open, revealing a very thin gray-haired woman who scowled at the pair. She closed the blinds without a word.

Immediately, the Joker set to picking the lock. Within seconds the pair were inside, but this time their quarry was a little more alert. She was already at the phone and in a shrill voice called out "Get out! I'm calling the police!"

The Joker pulled out one of his guns and casually shot the phone- the old style black telephone exploded, sending bits of plastic all over the room/ "Oh, I'm sorry, that answer is incorrect. Would you like to try again? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!"

The old woman stumbled back, clutching at her chest. "Wh-What d-d-do you w-w-w-want?"

"W-w-w-w-w-we w-w-w-want CANDY!" the Joker said "Now, I'll say this one last time. Trick? Or Treat?"

"I- I don't have any candy. I'm diabetic" the old woman stammered.

"Diabetic? My dear woman, there's no such thing. It's just a lie that candy-haters and doctors cooked up. The trouble, I think, is that you simply haven't found the right candy for you. We'll soon remedy that."

Over the next few minutes, the old woman was forced to ingest several different varieties of colored sugar. Harley was particularly 'helpful', suggesting several varieties that 'old women' liked. Soon, the victim was on the verge of diabetic shock, and fell to the floor.

"Y'know, Harl" The Joker said speculatively "It's JUST possible that diabetes is real. Maybe I was thinking of Tourette's Syndrome? I always get those two mixed up. Ma'am? MA'AM? If you tell us where you keep the insulin, we can help you out"

"D-drawer. Desk drawer"

The Joker walked briskly over to the desk and pulled out a thin case. With an air of competence and experience, he rapidly prepared a dose of insulin and walked back to the now thrashing form of his victim. "Hmmm…ma'am I can't give this to you while you thrash around like that. Tell you what, I'll just leave it here" he placed it on the desk, across the room from her "And you can use it when you settle down, OK?"

"But…But I CAN'T make it in time!"

"PSHAW! Pshaw I say" the Joker exclaimed "I have nothing but faith in you old girl!"

"Remember" Harley chimed in, wanting to inspire the woman "I can't never built a bridge, and I Can't never wrote a novel! Ya can do anything!"

As they prepared to leave, the Joker turned to where the old woman was trying desperately to crawl to the desk. "Oh don't worry about us. We'll just see ourselves out. Happy Halloween!"

Back outside, Harley hefted both bags of candy. "Now to the Iceberg, Puddin'?"

"Oh, all right" The Joker said, in the tones of a king granting a favor to his vassal "The Iceberg it is. Just don't forget to check the candy with Wren. Don't give it to Raven, she has a sweet tooth. '

"Right Puddin'. Didja enjoy yourself tonight?"

"I always do, Harl. I always do."

A/N

I know I said I'd do the Scarecrow this chapter, but the idea of the Joker trick or treating was just too good to wait.

I really liked the Chubby Bunny thing- too few stories show Harley's murderous side. I thought this was a nice fit.

I have no idea what happens to a diabetic when they are forcefed candy, but presumably its nothing good. I probably shouldn't have used it until I was sure- I hate authors who get their facts wrong- but honestly, death by candy was just too perfect to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Last night, the iceberg had been abuzz with everyone's plans for the holiday. The Joker and Harley said something about Trick-Or-Treating, Twoface was attending some sort of ball, and Croc had just said he was going to the fights. One of the wait staff- a new girl who was called Finch but looked more like a Molly- nervously asked the Scarecrow how he planned to frighten people on Halloween. "It must be your big night, eh Sir?"

The former professor had sniffed and sipped his wine. Then he curtly told her that any fool can frighten people on Halloween, but it took a real master to do the same thing on Boxing Day or Good Friday. "Halloween in amateur night girl. I have other plans. Plans I do not intend to share." And with that, the Master of Fear returned his attention to his conversation with Edward Nygma.

When the evening of October 31st arrived, it found Jonathan Crane rummaging through his closet. He tossed out old costumes and torn disguises in his search but eventually he emerged with his prize. His old civilian clothes- a brown suit with a neat black tie. It presented a schoolmasterly aura, with just the right touch of formality to discourage casual conversation. He had no desire to speak tonight, or at least not to speak idly. He'd been waiting for tonight for months.

The Gotham Museum of Art was showing a new, one night only exhibit: Fear in Art. It was a collection of paintings, sculptures, and performance pieces all inspired by that most sublime and powerful of emotions. It was scheduled to run late into the night, and boasted a huge number of different pieces in different mediums. Best of all, the advertisement promised a special Mystery Exhibit to crown the show. He'd bought a ticket well in advance, and had casually warned the underworld that anyone who disrupted the nights proceedings would be met with his most profound displeasure. Scarecrow did not have the clout of the Joker or Twoface, but no one wanted to provoke him unnecessarily. That would mean three hundred and sixty five nights of terror, rather than just one.

He glanced at the clock. A little after seven pm; he had plenty of time before the opening of the exhibit. On a whim, he decided to walk to the museum by way of Central Park. For most Gothamites, a walk in the park after dark was tantamount to suicid; however, as one of the infamous Rogues, he had little enough to fear. Ndeed, he noticed large men duck further into alleys and cross streets as he passed by. He smiled slightly at this; it was always so gratifying to receive recognition for ones work.

As he walked, he took this rare opportunity to examine Homo Sapiens Gothamicus in its natural state. As always, what he saw disgusted him. The sun had barely set and already there were a few people staggering about drunk. A pair of teenagers shared a revoltingly passionate embrace right in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing him to witness their saliva exchange. 'Honestly" he thought 'How can people call me a sicko when they do things like this?'

He spotted a few other Rogues out for a holiday excursion. On the other side of the street were Harley Quinn and that loathsome Joker. They were dressed up in costumes; he as a cowboy she as a princess. He sighed and shook his head- he'd had very high hopes for Harleen Quinzel back at Gotham University. She had been more than a student to him; he'd taken her under his wing and mentored her through college and afterwards. It saddened him to no end to see the broken, deluded, slave that the Joker had turned her into.

As for the clown, well he was a bit like Batman; Crane had nothing but respect for his mind or his abilities- it was the use to which he turned them that Crane objected to. The Joker regularly committed acts that sickened even the Scarecrow.

Twoface drove by, no doubt off to some pretentious gathering of Gotham's upper classes. Honestly, it was more than a little pathetic. Harvey Dent was so desperate to reclaim his former life that he was prepared to play the fool in front of all of Gotham just so he could pretend to be normal. As if normality was in any way a desirable state! A classic case of denial if he'd ever seen one.

But now was not the time to dwell on the myriad shortcomings and frailties of others. He had an exhibit to get to.

* * *

He reached the Gotham Museum just as the moon rose for the evening- a perfect full moon to complete the night. He presented his ticket to the elderly security guard and made his way inside, doing his best to avoid touching the people that surrounded him in the entryway. It was much better once he reached the museum proper- the gallery was extremely spacious and in any event few people had come to the exhibit.

'No doubt the great unwashed prefer to destroy their feeble minds with alcohol, candy and It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown' he thought with a sneer 'Heaven forfend they spend one evening improving themselves.'

Crane walked through the art gallery, drinking in the fruits of terror. The paintings and sculptures were all like something out of nightmares; indeed according to the art guide he'd brought with him, many of the artists on display had died in asylums, driven mad by the visions they'd put to canvas. It gave him a warm feeling. As enjoyable as the art was, the reactions of the patrons were even better. People shuddered away from the more gruesome pieces- and one woman actually broke down crying! He wandered through the gallery, dividing his attention between the art and the crowd.

He found a number of pieces that pleased him, few more so than the cinematic exhibition simply entitled Filmed Fear. It was a huge wall of television screens- more than fifty- all playing climactic scenes and screams from different horror movies. Crane spent a good twenty minutes in front of that one work, identifying the various films and enjoying the sound of screams. A pity he couldn't purchase it himself- the artist had donated it permanently to the museum.

It was around midnight when he found the mystery exhibit. It was housed in the Museums uppermost floor, and was kept behind closed doors. The signs named it Fear in Gotham. Crane opened the doors and was struck dumb. The room was filled with portraits and statues, all dedicated to Gotham's Rogues. Nor were these simply puff pieces aimed at showing what the lords of Gotham's criminal world looked like. Each piece sought to capture the true essence of the subject.  
For instance, the Riddler was represented by life sized statue- ordinary enough at first glance. It was only upon closer examination that one realized the entire piece was a colossal puzzle, designed to be taken apart and put together. Crane surreptitiously took a photo, certain that Nygma would enjoy it.

The Joker's portrait appeared to be an ordinary, rather pedestrian painting entirely encased in glass. However, the glass was there to ensure that no scent escaped- for the artist had chosen to color his painting using blood, bile, and other bodily humours. Despite the dull color and banal pose, Crane was impressed by the dedication shown and had to admit that it leant the work a visceral touch he rarely saw in art.

It was his own statue that naturally drew his attention. Standing in the center of the chamber was a fifteen foot high Scare Crow- designed to resemble his real costume. It was made of brown sack-cloth, and a pointed straw hat, with steel claws on the ends of its hands. The effigy loomed over a small, gothic model of Gotham City which came up to its waist. Its posture was exultant, and upon closer examination, it was possible to see tiny people in the city's streets. They were prostrate in worship at the scare crow's feet, and their tiny faces- painted with perfect detail- reflected awe and fear. The piece was titled 'God of Fear'.

Crane had never been prouder in his life.

All too soon the show came to an end- by three o'clock, the guards announced that they would be locking up soon. Crane took one last tour of Fear in Gotham, and left for home. He stopped by the gift shop to buy a few posters of the exhibits- especially his own. He paid full price- it seemed only fair, for such a wonderful evening.

* * *

A/N  
Jonathan Crane strikes me as the most misanthropic of the Rogues. He's probably the only one who is an outsider even among the Rogues, and is happy that way. Incidentally, it has come to my attention that someone out there created Joker/Scarecrow slash. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, whoever you are. Deeply, deeply ashamed.

With her permission, I'm posting a few rules that Princessebee created. They are guidelines for writing Harley Quinn, and I find them quite helpful. If anyone wishes to read my rules for writing the Joker, they can be found in my story the Joker's Wild (Shameless Plug).

1. Harley is obsessed with The Joker. He is the reason she became Harley  
Quinn. When you remove him, her motivation to be Harley Quinn disappears.  
Harley is not a rogue to be evil, but to support her Puddin' and be by his  
side. Many of her actions come directly from following his orders or doing  
something to try and make him happy, or comfortable. He is not just the centre  
of her life, he IS her life. Even when with Ivy, Harley is portrayed  
frequently as longing for Joker, thinking about him, or even just having a  
little Joker doll to cuddle.

2. Joker is Harley's #1 Weakness. Whatever Harley's best intentions are,  
they can be swayed by Joker his demands, his needs, his very presence. Harley  
will ultimately act in his best interest; however she will not betray her own  
convictions to do so (see #5 & #6 for more on this) and will find a way to get  
around them. If Harley has quit crime or moved in another direction, Joker can  
urge her back almost just with a smile.

3. Harley is intelligent. Harley is playful, perky, goofy, whacky and wired;  
she is NOT stupid. Harley might not got a lot of 'book smarts' as we  
understand them, but any of her daffy behaviour is caused by her short  
attentionspan or overenthusiasm rather than stupidity. She's very smart and  
is capable of acts of brilliance when she focuses on something. She is  
perceptive, she has a long memory and she is also inventive and innovative.

4. Harley is goofy, NOT a screwup. Not everything Harley does goes wrong. She  
is not constantly inelegant and unsophisticated in the way she approaches her  
rogueing. The episode Harley & Ivy, for example, has her crime going very well  
before Ivy sets off the alarms and it's Harley who gets them out. Harley is  
the overthetop cartoony character who lightens up the more serious rogues  
this doesn't mean she's a walking disaster area. Well, okay, she is, but  
she doesn't constantly mess things up.

5. Harley has enormous heart and soul. Harley does bad things and hurts  
people; but at the end of the day she is incredibly passionate and  
compassionate. She is a character who is driven by her heart, and if you've  
touched her in some way she will more than likely forever more regard you with  
a friendly eye and stick up for you.

6. Harley is incredibly loyal. Joker and Ivy get the full benefit of  
Harley's compulsive loyalty, but it extends to anyone she counts as a  
friend. She has a strong system of honour and not even Joker or Ivy can  
persuade her to betray this. In the Batgirl #1 special, she promises to go  
with Batgirl to the court, and when Ivy is disdainful, Harley keeps her  
promise. In Detective #831, Harley is loyal to the memory of Arnold Wesker for  
having shown her kindness in the asylum.

7. Harley can only be pushed So Far. Harley takes a lot when it comes to The  
Joker. She adores him, completely, truly, madly, deeply. HOWEVER, she is still  
insane and will still only take so much. This is related to the complexity of  
their relationship which is a Dominant/submissive one. Whenever a submissive  
feels their Dominant is not behaving as they should or has betrayed them,  
they're likely to bite back and this is just what Harley does.

8. Both Joker and Poison Ivy abuse Harley, but this is not entirely  
nonconsensual. There are deeper dynamics at work in both these relationships.  
Harley is capable of asserting herself when she needs to; however she is a  
submissive personality and both Joker and Ivy are extremely dominant ones.  
Factor in that they are all psychopaths and simply incapable of having healthy  
relationships and both Joker and Ivy are used to dominating and getting what  
they want while Harley's desire is to make the people she loves happy.

9. Harley does not fly solo. Harley has a codependent, followertype nature.  
She has no particular passionate conviction to be a criminal for some  
'higher cause' (apart from her Puddin'!) and so is really unlikely to do  
any solo heists. When with Joker her motivation is whatever he wants; and when  
with Ivy it's almost like a galpal 'shopping spree' jewellery and other  
goodies, although she will also be induced to help with Ivy's passion to  
protect plant life. That said, Harley enjoys her life of crime and mayhem.

10. Harley is manipulative and cunning. Sure, Harley is sweet and perky.  
She's also very canny. The whole bubbleheaded blonde bimbo thing? Not  
entirely genuine, and it certainly doesn't lack selfawareness. There is a  
true slice of innocence to Harley's nature, but she can snap very quickly  
into cunning.

11. Harley is childlike and playful. She's immature it seems her insanity  
caused her to mentally regress and she makes everything into a game. She  
doesn't just do something, she performs it. She's playful and theatrical  
about it and does the best she can. Even when she goofs up she goofs up in  
such a way that it's pretty much a performance in itself, and highly  
entertaining.

12. Harley longs for a 'normal life'. Even in her fantasies about her  
longedfor future with Joker, we are shown something very traditional a normal  
home, with a couple of kids. Harley makes an effort to be rehabilitated over  
and over again, each time seeking normalcy. However, Harley does love her life  
of crime, it excites her and she would never be able to settle down long term.

13.Harley has a rabid interest in sex. Harley has NEEDS. It's not just that  
Joker doesn't give her enough it's that Harley is VERY in touch with her  
sexual self. She knows her own sexual appeal and will use it, but she is also  
a highly physical, affectionate, cuddly person who loves pleasure and WANTS  
it. She is also needy and demanding.

14.Harley's love for Joker is constant, but the way she responds to it is  
not. Harley is never 'out' of love with him she can be angry  
at him, hurt by him, swearing him off for a normal life, but she always loves  
him and always will. This is also her one source of angst, for even as she  
tries to turn her back on him, she still yearns for him.

15.Harley is insane. Harley is nuts. Her mind has fractured, her sense of  
reality distorted. To her, the world is a game and the only thing that is  
really serious is Love, and Love is worth doing anything for.  
Harley frequently shows random kindness; and random maliciousness. This is  
inconsistent and depends on her humour at the time, or how she particularly  
regards the people involved.

16. Harley is not an innocent. She's insane but she's not harmless.  
She's very dangerous. She has killed, and will kill and the danger lies in  
that she regards it all as a game. Cross someone she loves and look out. It is  
largely her loyalty and love that will drive her to do her most antisocial  
acts of violence, but she willhem if she thinks they're funny as well.  
Strangers are props to her, particularly when she's with Joker, and she has  
no compassion for the Batfamily.

17. Harley is happy. Harley is not a particularly angsting, tortured  
character. She is largely in love with life, plugged in, charged up and joyous  
in the way she interacts with people and things she does. Although she is  
capable of as deep sadness and misery as she is happiness and joy, she does  
not dwell over much, if anything, except Joker. And even on that account she  
can very quickly and easily be cheered up by the smallest gesture from him.  
Harley is also extremely friendly and open with just about everyone even  
hostages.


	4. Chapter 4

Waylan Jones- Killer Croc - wasn't what you'd call complicated. He liked fresh meat, good fights, hard cash and loose women- not necessarily in that order. He didn't have much patience for the Iceberg crowd- they were mostly a sorry collection of wannabes, has-beens, and loonies. But a guy like him didn't have a helluva lot of choices when it came to watering holes, and at least at the 'Berg nobody screamed when he came in. He guessed that once you've served the Joker, a guy with scales and fangs wasn't too bad at all.

Still, it meant dealing with the loons which was a hassle. How was a man supposed to enjoy his drink when Mad Hatter kept trying to switch seats every time his glass was empty, or Firefly trying to bum a light every five seconds?

Halloween, now, Halloween was different. On Halloween he could go where he liked without problems, and do what he liked. Like a real person. It was his favorite night of the year, and he always tried to be out of Arkham for Halloween. As usual, he started his holiday at the Berg, looking at other peoples costumes. The big Come As You Should Be party was always good for some cheap fun. Riddler was dressed funny- a plaid cape amd some weird hat with a brim in front and back. Someone said it was supposed to be Sure Lock Homes (whoever that was), but nobody seemed to think it was a real good likeness. Oswald was dressed like one a them old timey noble-types. A count, or duke or something, Croc figured. He had a big white wig, and a suit with all kinds a weird ruffles and buttons on it. It was probably supposed to look real elegant, but Oswald was so short and fat that he just looked stupid.

For himself, Croc was wearing his usual wrestler's costume- a simple set of tights plus a big shiny championship- type belt. He'd always wanted to be a wrestler, but his condition had ended that dream along with all the others. Suddenly, Croc decided the 'Berg wasn't where he wanted to be tonight. He had tickets to the big wrestling match, and he needed to get ready.

He went to the butcher near his newest hideout to get snacks. For the last few years, Croc had been craving raw meat all the time, and his appetite had doubled. So it was that he walked out of the butcher shop carrying five pounds of raw hamburger in a paper bag. This would have been enough to feed a family for a week, but it''d barely get him through the evening. Sometimes he worried what would happen when butchers could no longer satisfy his need for fresh, bloody meat. He figured he'd do whatever he had to do, same as he'd always done. And if somebody else had to get hurt, well too bad for them.

He made his way down the street, and was happy to see that the crowd around him ignored him. No one recognized the infamous Killer Croc- all the normal people figured he was wearing a costume. Of course, that alos meant no one was scared enough to get out of his way, but recognized or not Croc was a big man and simply pushed his way through the mass of people. As he went, he saw the Joker and Harley pass by- dressed in costumes. He gave the Joker a respectful nod- the clown was hands down the scariest guy Croc had ever come across, and he didn't want to be on his bad side. He drank in the view of Harley in her little pink dress- which gave a VERY nice view to passersby. The clowns continued on their way to wherever, and the big man exhaled deeply in relief.

Finally, he arrived at Memorial Stadium, where a huge banner on the front announced tonights World Heavyweight Wrestling Federation Halloween Slamboree 2008. Croc had bought his ticket the day before (thank god for Ticketmaster) and moved past the massive line at the counter. Again, his sheer size insured that no one got in his way as he headed for his seat. He'd only been able to afford a mediocre ticket, meaning his seat was about halfway up, but at least it was on the aisle and he could stretch his legs. Not that he expected to be seated for most of the evening. He tended to get excited during a good match. He settled in and watched the show unfold.

It started off with the low-bill wrestlers, guys in costumes so stupid they made him laugh. And considering who Croc rubbed elbows with on a daily basis, that was really sayimg something. Each one made a speech about how tough they were and how mean they were and what a pansy the other guy was. Corny as all hell, but Croc just tuned 'em out. The actual matches were worth the price of admission, though.

Croc knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed- he'd never really needed to be. Nevertheless, he was smart enough to know that pro wrestling was faked. That the 'fights' he saw in the ring were about as real as…well, as real as crocodile tears. But that only made the show even better. Once you figured out the whole thing was rigged, the fights actually got more entertaining. Croc had heard one time about the ballet -probably from Penguin, who liked all that fruity stuff. Penguin had kept going on and on about how graceful the dancers were, how wonderfully they moved, and how every part of their body was under such great control.

In a way, that was what Croc liked about pro wrestling. He knew from experience what the guys in the ring went through; the nonstop training, the practice, the rehearsals. Ballet dancers might work harder but if they screwed up then they just got fired. If one of the guys down in the ring screwed up, they'd be in a world of pain- maybe dead. A bodyslam might break real bones, a piledriver could snap your neck, and the less said about elbow drop mishaps the better. Every incident free match was like a dance; a piece of art. It was probably the closest thing to fine art Croc had ever experienced. And for a little while, in the midst of the roar of the crowd and the thump of bodies hitting the mat- Killer Croc felt human.

A/N  
I know I know- not very good. But really, there isn't much you can do with old Crockers. He's not as cool as the Joker, nor as deep as TwoFace. He's just a really strong, really ugly guy. Frankly, I'm amazed DC hasn't turned him into a set of luggage yet.

That's the last one, kiddies!


End file.
